


Sweet As Cupcakes

by Bubblepop32, DrownedTrying



Series: Hetalia Fics [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2P America (Hetalia), 2P Canada (Hetalia), 2P China (Hetalia), 2P England (Hetalia), 2P France (Hetalia), 2P Germany (Hetalia), 2P Hetalia, 2P Japan (Hetalia), 2P North Italy (Hetalia), 2P Prussia (Hetalia), 2P Russia (Hetalia), 2P South Italy (Hetalia), 2P Spain (Hetalia), F/M, Murder, Yandere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-06 12:51:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17345552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubblepop32/pseuds/Bubblepop32, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrownedTrying/pseuds/DrownedTrying
Summary: To be completely honest, the new bakery in town scares you.It wasn’t the delicious-looking  treats or the customers, but more so the staff and their behavior. It also doesn’t help that multiple people have gone missing, only to be found weeks later laying dead in a ditch, their stomachs cut open, stuffed with unique-looking cupcakes that looked fake and made of styrofoam, then sewed back shut. The bakery, despite it being open for less than six months, has been under close observation by the Hetalian Police Force.However, what worries you more is the look that Oliver Kirkman has been giving you for the past three days.





	1. Chapter 1

To be completely honest, the new bakery in town scares you.

It wasn’t the delicious-looking treats or the customers, but more so the staff and their behavior. It also doesn’t help that multiple people have gone missing, only to be found weeks later laying dead in a ditch, their stomachs cut open, stuffed with unique-looking cupcakes that looked fake and made of styrofoam, then sewed back shut. The bakery, despite it being open for less than six months, has been under close observation by the Hetalian Police Force.

However, what worries you more is the look that Oliver Kirkman has been giving you for the past three days.

At first, you thought nothing of it. You don’t consider yourself a _people person,_ especially since you have a bit of a hard time reading people and their body language, so an odd look from a stranger meant nothing to you. To be fair, you’ve received a lot of weird looks due to your appearance: messy hair that never stayed in place, clothes ruffled and sometimes torn and covered in blood, and a bruise here and there on your cheeks, arms, and other parts of your body that’s normally covered by clothes. You didn’t mind it, though. No one told you how taxing being a veterinarian assistant would be, nor did anyone tell you that those ‘friendly’ little pets would put up such a fuss, even for a mere checkup. 

You pause during your trek home, blinking. What were you thinking about again? Your eyes wander to the darkened windows of _Oliver’s Bakery,_ your mind reawakening with the memory of your main thought. That’s right, the bakery. No, the _owner_ of said bakery.

Oliver Kirkman was… Well, he was strange. The pink haired man was strange from the moment the bakery’s doors opened to the public, and if there was one expression you could clearly read, it was hatred. Pure hatred. That was the first look he had ever given you. He was holding the door open as customer after customer walked into the new and only bakery in Hetalia. You, however, were too busy rushing to get to work on time. Oliver had glanced your way and sent you a large grin, one that showed off his perfectly straight white teeth. Feeling a pang of guilt, you returned an apologetic smile, only to be caught off guard when the man’s sky blue eyes darkened dangerously. Oliver seemed to be a completely different person, even though you’ve never met him. You only remember scurrying off to work after that.

Since then, you’ve gotten weird vibes from the owner, especially when you pass him or his employees on the streets or in the stores. You notice the way they seemingly stare at you whenever they come into view and the way they walk a little _too_ close to you when passing. Oliver, however, has never taken a single step towards you. You weren’t sure why they were watching you with interest, but you didn’t like it one bit.

The news reports on the murders have also been getting to you. Your anxiety has gotten collectively worse, but with an unknown killer walking the streets and passing as a normal human, you were finding it hard to gather the courage to even leave your room. 

The first victim was a man you had never met, but that didn’t mean you weren’t affected by his death. He was a well known detective with a wife and two kids, but went missing early one Sunday morning. He wasn’t seen for at least a week, but when his body was found stuffed with cupcakes and in a ditch, all hell broke loose. People began to panic, and Oliver was quick to be put at blame, mainly due to the fact that no one really knew him, and that he’s the new guy in your small town. You didn’t want to join the hype, but as more and more people went missing and were killed, you found it hard to believe that Oliver had nothing to do with this. 

Despite the rumors, however, people still went to his bakery for a reason unknown. Perhaps they were drawn to the fresh sweets the man baked every day, or maybe it was the atmosphere of the bakery. No one would say for sure when they were questioned, almost as if they didn’t know why they continued to return to the bakery themselves. 

You still haven’t visited the bakery.

Yes, you were curious about it, but not _too_ curious. Besides, you were busy as it is with your job and with school. You went to veterinary school Monday through Friday, starting at seven A.M. and ending at two P.M., but then you had to rush to the local veterinarian’s office to work from three to eleven. Homework was a hard task to finish, but you just _barely_ manage to finish each and every page during the short breaks at work. Then, it was time to hurry home, shower, gather your things for school, and be up at five to start your day all over again. Weekends weren’t even an option for relaxation. They were filled with working at the vet from sunrise to sundown. There was simply no time that could be used to sit down and enjoy a pastry. 

“What a wonderful night, is it not?” You jumped, whirling around. Standing a few yards away was the man you were dreading to see.

“Uh, yeah! It is,” you muster, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Oliver grins at you, his blue eyes seemingly glowing in the darkness of the night. This uneases you for some reason.

“Walking home from work, are we?” he asks, walking forward. You nod, biting your lip. You really don’t want to talk to him, _especially_ not at night, and not when you’re all alone. “May I?”

“May you what?” you question, mentally thinking to where you kept your switchblade. You thought it was silly at first when the police department asked everyone to carry a weapon with the recent murders, but now, you’re thanking whatever god that’s out there that you have a fucking knife on you. Oliver chuckles, tipping his head forward as he makes his way to you.

“Walk you home, of course. With everything that has been happening, I wouldn’t want a girl like you to disappear.” Your unease has reached another level at his words.

“Uhm, I’m fine, thanks,” you try to say, but the pink haired man grins up at you, and you swear you see his eyes flash pink.

“I insist! You look quite knackered, and I wouldn’t want some nutter to come along and try to mess with you.” You still don’t relax at his words. The bakery owner notices this and straightens his back, a smile still evident on his pale face. “I’m Oliver Kirkland. I own the bakery that has opened down the road.”

“I know,” you swallow. The smile on his lips grows. “From the news.”

“Ah, the news,” Oliver sighs, shaking his head. You notice with slight irritation and fear that he’s _still fucking smiling._ “I’m afraid that’s nothing but hogwash. Please pay no mind to it.” 

“Look, Oliver, it was nice meeting you, but I really have to go.” You turn to leave, only for the man to catch your arm. You turn, knife gripped tightly in your hand. Stabbing someone isn’t something you want to do, but if push comes to shove, then by fucking god, you’ll do it. You look at the man expectantly, your eyes wide. He simply smiles at you.

“Your name,” he says. “I didn’t catch it.” Shit. You were hoping he didn’t notice. Silence engulfs the immediate area, and though he looks calm and composed, you sense that Oliver’s anger is quickly going up the elevator and through the roof.

“Jodi,” you quickly say. It wasn’t a good idea to give this man your real name. One of his thick eyebrows raises, almost disappearing beneath his bangs.

“Is that so?” he mutters slowly. He lets go of your arm, an unreadable expression on his face. You quickly back away from him.

“Yes, it is. Have a pleasant night,” you rush, taking another step back. Oliver lowers his head slightly, a sinister smile creeping along his face.

“You as well, _Jodi._ But please, remember this, my dear.” The smile disappears, his voice lowering an octave. “I don’t like liars.”

Yep, time to fucking _go._

Instead of responding to the pink haired man, your turn and walk as quickly away from him as you can, not bothering to look back at him. You could feel his gaze burning holes in the back of your head, which makes you walk even faster, almost into a light jog. You only had about half a mile to go, seeing as the University of Hetalia is two miles away from your apartment, and _Oliver's Bakery_ is somewhere between your apartment and school. Your heart pounds painfully in your chest, your eyes water from fearful tears, and every little noise makes you jump. Slowing down isn’t even an option for you until you climb the steps to reach your apartment on the fourth floor. Digging through your backpack, you struggle to locate your apartment key. You don’t notice where you’re going and ultimately bump into someone.

“Fucking watch it, bitch!” Your head snaps up, eyes wide.

“I’m so sorry!” Only now do you notice who you bumped into. The man you ran into towers over you, standing to _at least_ six foot seven, if not more. His amber eyes glare angrily into yours, his burgundy hair falling haphazardly into his eyes. His toned chest is hugged by a tight black shirt, a dark brown jacket draped lazily over his shoulder. A flash of silver catches your eye, and you see the dog tags that hang around his neck.

_A soldier._

“You’re _sorry?!_ If you were so _sorry,_ you would’ve paid attention to where you were fucking going!” he all but yells. You flinch and he sighs angrily. The man thrusts his large hand towards you. You look up at him, shaking. “Allen Jones.” 

“What?” you whimper, standing a little straighter. The man frowns even more, his eyes narrowing. 

“Allen Jones. My _name.”_ he growls.

“O-Oh.” You slide your much smaller hand into his, wincing as he grips your hand a little _too_ tightly. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Allen gives your hand a shake before releasing it. You swallow before speaking. “May I ask why you’re in front of my apartment?” Suddenly, a bronze key is dangled in front of your face.

“I _live_ here,” Allen snarls. You turn your focus to where the man’s pointing, which happens to be the room right across from yours.

“Ah! Of, uh, of course!” you sputter, forcing a smile on your face, though it probably looks more like a grimace. Allen just glares down at you. “Welcome to the apartments! The, ah, the washing machine and dryer is in the basement, but you may have to beat up the dryer a bit for it to work. Oh! And the owner’s this nice old lady, but she can’t really see that well… Or hear, either… So, er, please be patient with her! She’s doing her best!” you tell him. The man continues to stare at you. You feel sweat rolling down the back of your neck, causing you to shiver. “I’m gonna go in, now, so uh-”

“Thanks for the information,” Allen states. You watch, dumbfounded, as the tall redhead turns and disappears behind his apartment door, closing it with little sound. After a moment of standing there staring at his door, your turn to open your own, only to hear what sounds like ‘Yeah, I’ve found her.’ You pause and glance at his door in worry, but quickly go inside your apartment. You’re quick to lock the door and put a chair under the door handle. Looking around your living room, you notice the window you left open and rush to close it. When it’s latched and the curtains yanked closed, you allow yourself to finally breathe a sigh of relief.

“Alright, that’s enough excitement for one night,” you mumble to yourself. 

“Meow.” Smiling, you look down at the brown and white tabby cat that had literally wandered into your life not too long ago.

“Hey, Gizmo. Do anything interesting today?” you ask. Gizmo blinks up at you, his yellow eyes full of judgement. You’re quick to notice the T.V. that’s powered on, even though you made sure it was off when you left. “Okay, you probably did. Was there anything good on T.V. when I was gone?” You seat yourself on the couch and turn the T.V. off before digging around your backpack for your notes. A few more minutes of studying, and you should be done for the night.

“Meow,” Gizmo replies, hopping up next to you. You drape a hand over his stomach as he curls up, feeling his purrs rumbling throughout his body.

“I hear ya, man. I’m tired, too.” You stifle a yawn, but read over your notes for a final time. It felt like hours since you picked up your notes, but was probably around thirty minutes when you finally decided to get some sleep. “C’mon, Gizmo. Let’s get some sleep,” you tell him, standing. The cat blinks his yellow eyes at you before following you into your bedroom, hopping up on the bed as you changed into your pajamas and climbed under the covers. The moment your head hits the pillow, you’re asleep.

You don’t even hear your living room window opening.


	2. Chapter 2

“Gizmo, it’s time to go,” you call. Gizmo gives you a blank look, not willing to get up from his comfortable position on the couch. You give him a firm look. “Gizmo, c’mon. We talked about this.”

“Meow,” he responds. You narrow your eyes at him, and the tabby narrows his at you. This wasn’t anything new, however. Gizmo liked to make it clear that when he doesn’t want to do something or go somewhere, he _won’t,_ no matter who you made a promise to or who’s expecting to see him.

“No, Gizmo. I promised Klaus that I’d bring you in for _Bring Your Pet To Work Day,_ and I intend to keep it. So, with that being said, you are coming whether you like it or not,” you growl. Gizmo simply stares at you.

“Meow.”

 _”Don’t you dare sass me, damn cat!”_ The tabby snarls gently at you. You frown angrily. “Fine. Let’s see how you like _this.”_ You walk over to the tabby laying on the couch in a humanlike fashion, and in one fluid move, you grab him by the scruff of his neck, turn off the T.V., and put him in his gray and blue plastic cat carrier. Gizmo’s too shocked by your speed to make a noise. Feeling victorious, you close the living room window, although you’re quite sure you closed and locked it the night before, grabbed your keys from the dish on the counter, and walk to your door. No one’s in the hallway as you exit your room, but when you turn to lock your door behind you, you hear another door open.

“Who are you talking to?” You whirl around to see Allen peeking at you from behind his door, a sour expression on his face as he glares at you. You swallow thickly. 

“Oh, uh, my cat, Gizmo,” you stammer. For added effect, you lift the cat carrier so the soldier can see Gizmo in all of his hate-filled glory. You knew full and well that Gizmo hated being in the cat carrier, so the moment you arrived at work and let him out, you knew the cat would be hissing at you until you have to shove him back into the carrier and go home.

“You’re talking pretty loudly to your cat,” Allen gruffs, leaning down slightly to examine Gizmo. “And this early? Fuck, all I need are loudass neighbors making noise this fucking early in the morning.” You bite your lip.

“Uhm…”

_”What.”_

“It’s two fifteen in the afternoon,” you state. Allen pauses before shifting his rouge eyes to meet yours. You immediately regret opening your mouth.

“Is it, now,” he deadpans. It’s probably best to stay quiet. The tension’s thick between the two of you as you stare at each other. Gizmo looks between the two of you, silently enjoying the karma that has been served right at you.

“I, er, I kinda have to, ah, go to work,” you stutter. Allen nods slightly, frowning.

“I see. Have a safe trip to work.” Allen closes his door without another word, and when you hear his lock click, you find a huge weight is lifted off your shoulders. Looking down at the tabby that’s currently locked in his little jail, you sigh. 

“Let’s go, Gizmo. Klaus won’t like it if we’re late.” Your cat meows as you begin to walk towards the stairs. Nothing interesting happens on your way to the first floor, other than Gizmo complaining at you. “Why do you constantly yell at me?” you tease. Gizmo growls softly.

“Is that (Y/N) I hear?” You look up and see Mrs. Collins smiling in your direction, her wrinkled hands holding tightly on a cane. You grin and walk over.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Collins. How are you today?” you ask politely. Mrs. Collins chuckles, her milky gray eyes closing.

“I am well. My back has been quite bothersome lately, but it’s nothing to be worried about,” she says. Your smile fades slightly.

“Is everything alright? Do you need any help around the apartment building? If I need to, I can talk to Klaus about cutting my hours, and-”

“Nonsense, dear,” Mrs. Collins laughs, effectively cutting you off. You can’t help but give her a troubled look.

“Are you sure? You know I don’t mind helping you, Mrs. Collins, especially after everything you’ve done for me,” you say. Mrs. Collins raises a shaky hand and pats you on the cheek.

“While I do appreciate the offer, my dear, I must decline.” The apartment owner lowers her hand. “I’ve come to invite you to dinner tonight. Nothing special, but to congratulate you on your progress in school and as a vet assistant,” she says. You blink.

“Tonight? At what time?” you ask. Mrs. Collins grins.

“I’m not hearing a ‘no,’ so why not around nine?” You sigh sadly. 

“I wish I could, Mrs. Collins, but the end of my shift is at eleven,” you reply. Mrs. Collins laughs again, and you find yourself smiling. She always had a way of making you smile.

“Don’t fret over that, (Y/N). I already called Mr. Beilschmidt and talked it over with him. He says it’s completely fine if you leave work early, and that he’ll give you the rest of the details when you get to work,” Mrs. Collins says, and you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

“I guess you really have everything planned out, don’t you?” you tease. Mrs. Collins simply smiles at you.

“That I do, my dear. Now hurry along to work, or you’ll be late,” she chides softly. You nod to her.

“Yes ma’am. I’ll see you at nine!” The old lady waves you off, a grin still on her face. You rush out the door, careful to not bump Gizmo into anything, already speed walking to work. You keep your head down for the majority of the trip, but when you walk closer to _Oliver’s Bakery,_ you can’t help but glance up and through the windows. Oliver stands by a table, smiling down at a mother with her two young children as they all converse. You watch as Oliver laughs, but you jump when his sky blue eyes meet yours. His smile turns more into a smirk as he lifts a hand in greeting. 

You scurry away and continue on your journey to the veterinarian’s office. It’s almost three o’clock when you push through the glass doors. The veterinarian stands behind the desk, studying a clipboard.

“Guten Tag, (Y/N),” Klaus says, not looking up at you. You nod to the albino. 

“Good afternoon, Dr. Beilschmidt,” you reply. The vet puts down the clipboard and gives you a blank look.

“Ist zat Gizmo?” he asks without interest. Nodding, you carefully lower the cat carrier to the floor and open the hatch. Gizmo immediately walks out, shooting you a look of great irritation.

“Yes, sir. Gizmo, this is Dr. Beilschmidt. You know, my _boss.”_ You give the tabby a stern look before turning to the Prussian. “He can be a handful, but I can assure you that he’ll behave,” you tell Klaus. The vet nods.

“He must. Ve are running a business, after all.” You hum and pull on the white lab coat you’ve been told to wear.

“Do we have any appointments today, sir?”

“Ja, zer are zwei. Herr Hermes Karpusi und mein bruder, Lutz, vill be bringing in zer hunde,” he informs. You grimace. While you didn’t mind his dogs, you find that Hermes can be… A little too much to deal with. The Greek is rude, cruel to cats, and is downright a disgusting pervert. There has been many a time when he’s tried to get you to sleep with him, but becomes enraged when you tell him no. Although Klaus is an emotionless and lame guy, you find comfort in the fact he refuses to let anyone harass his assistant. 

That or he doesn’t want Hermes to sue his business.

“Your brother?” you blink. “I didn’t know you had one.” Klaus tenses for a moment before turning away. You share a look with Gizmo. 

“I do, ja. I am not sehr close to mein bruder, so I do not speak about him often,” Klaus says after a moment of hesitation. 

“I see. I’m sorry for intruding,” you mutter softly, lowering your head. You look back up when the Prussian sighs.

“It ist nothing to be vorried about. Ve vill have a slow day today, so if you have any homevork, you may do it.” Nodding, you turn to grab the T.V. remote for Gizmo, but stop.

“Wait, did you get a call from Mrs. Collins, Dr. Beilschmidt?” you question. 

“Your landlord? Ja, I did. I understand you vere invited to dinner vit her, and it ist at neun, correct?” 

“Yes, sir,” you reply. Klaus studies you, his red eyes searching your face. 

“You may leave at acht, if you’d like,” he says.

“Acht?” you repeat. The vet gives you a look that you’re sure means that he thinks you’re stupid.

“Eight. At eight, (Y/N).”

“Oh.” You glance at Gizmo, and he makes an odd sound, almost as if he’s laughing at you. You narrow your eyes at him. “Damn you, Gizmo. This isn’t funny.” Klaus hums in agreement. You open your mouth to speak more, but the glass doors fly open, and three German Shepherds burst through. Gizmo hisses and jumps onto the counter and out of reach of the three dogs. This doesn’t stop them from trying to get to your poor tabby.

**“Nein! Stoppen! Komm zurück, du fickst Mutts!”** a heavily accented voice yells. You look up to see a muscular blonde with a scar that extends from under his left eye and across his cheek. 

“Hallo, Lutz. Wie gehts?” Klaus questions. You mentally nod in understanding. _This_ is the Prussian’s brother.

***“Nicht sehr gut,”*** Lutz replies, frowning at his dogs. He notices you. ****“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”****

“Nein, she doesn’t. Speak English, bitte,” Klaus tells him. Lutz nods.

“Hallo, I am Lutz Beilschmidt, Klaus’ younger bruder,” he says. You extend your hand to him, your professional persona kicking in.

“Hello, I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N), his assistant. May I ask what you are here for?” you ask. Klaus walks around the desk.

“His dogs are here for a check up. Vould you like to get the room ready?” You know this is more of a demand than a question.

“Of course. I’ll have it ready in a moment.” When you turn to leave, you swear you hear maniacal laughter right outside the open window, but you brush it off as your imagination. You’re probably still freaked out by your run in with Oliver, so you let it slip from your mind.

* * *

You study yourself in the mirror, frowning. Although you know the dinner isn’t anything extravagant, you feel as if you should at _least_ look nice. 

“Gizmo, how do I look?” you ask. You’re met with silence. With a sigh, you straighten out your shirt. Ever since arriving back to your apartment, Gizmo hasn’t given you the time of day, and you’re sure it’s either because you forced him to go to _Bring Your Pet To Work Day,_ or the fact that not only Lutz’s dogs, but Hermes’ dogs chased him around the animal hospital. “You know, I’ve said I’m sorry thirteen times already,” you call. Again, silence. Frowning, you continue to nitpick at yourself, only to be interrupted by a series of knocking at your door. Expecting it to be Mrs. Collins, you open the door.

“Allen, it’s quite rude to be - Oh, _hello,_ poppet,” Oliver grins. You feel yourself pale as you look up into Oliver’s eyes.

“How-” you muster, backing away from the door. The Brit chuckles, his grip on a tray of brightly frosted cupcakes tightening, and catching your attention.

“I assure you, this is a mere coincidence,” he laughs. You have a terrible feeling that it wasn’t that much of a coincidence that he showed up at your door. He takes your silence as doubt in his words. “I’m merely searching for my little brother’s room. Will you help me, poppet?”

“Please don’t call me that,” you whimper. Gizmo decides now is a good time to come see who’s at the door. The moment he walks up, Oliver gasps loudly.

“Oh, what a beautiful cat!” the bakery owner exclaims. He kneels, balancing the tray on his knee. Gizmo, for whatever reason, stands in front of you and, much to your astonishment, fluffs up his fur and hisses vigorously at Oliver. You jump in surprise. In the two years you’ve had him, you’ve _never_ seen Gizmo act this way. Oliver yanks his hand back, his eyes wide. However, he narrows them at your cat, and you feel a pang of fear hit you in the middle of your chest.

“Sorry! He doesn’t like strangers!” you quickly say. It’s a lie, since Gizmo _literally_ walked up to you one day and wouldn’t leave you alone, thus becoming your cat, but from the way the Brit glares at him, you feel the need to protect the little ball of brown and white fur. Whatever trance Oliver is in is broken as he snaps his head up.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he replies. You watch as Oliver stands, brushing off his pants with one hand. “As I was saying, I am looking for my little brother-”

“Oliver?” You peek around the pink haired man to see Allen, who looks somewhat dressed up. He looks nice, to say the least, and you can hardly stop yourself from staring. The green button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up shows off the muscles in his arms, his tattoos, and with the first two buttons unbuttoned, you catch a glimpse of his collarbone. Allen’s blue jeans are ripped at his knees, but fit his legs _perfectly,_ really defining the muscles in his calves. 

You force yourself to look up into his red eyes in order to not start drooling over how _good_ your new neighbor looks.

“There you are! I was looking for you,” Oliver says cheerfully. Allen frowns down at his older brother.

“I told you what room number I’m in _five fucking times,_ asshole,” he growls.

“Language,” Oliver sings. You look between the two of them, not really seeing the similarities. Allen rolls his eyes. 

“What room number did I give you,” Allen demands. 

“Why, four-oh-seven, of course,” the pink haired baker responds. Allen crosses his arms and _oh god he should **not** do that because it shows off his muscles._

“Mmhmm. And what number is on her door.” Oliver turns to look at the number on your door, laughing softly.

“Silly me! I misread four-oh-six for four-oh-seven! My apologies, Jodi!” The redhead tilts his head at you and you blanch. 

_Fuck._

“It’s no problem!” you rush. Oliver frowns at you, but the frown is quickly replaced by a bright grin.

“So, why are you here?” Allen questions. Oliver turns back to his younger, yet taller, brother.

“I haven’t seen you in _forever!_ Haven’t you missed me?” the baker exclaims.

“You saw me yesterday, asshole.” Oliver sighs, his free hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Allen, my dear little brother, what have I said about using such foul language around me? You know I don’t mind if you use it, just not around _me,”_ Oliver says. The soldier doesn’t reply. “You have dinner to attend to with the apartment owner, do you not?” You look at Allen, surprised.

“You too?” Allen meets your eyes, looking surprised. “I wasn’t aware we would be having dinner together,” you tell him. Oliver looks between the two of you, his eyes darkening with a negative emotion. However, it’s gone before you could even _try_ to decipher what it was.

“Oh, splendid! I brought cupcakes for you all to enjoy at the dinner!” the Brit grins. You smile nervously, but in reality, you’re beginning to freak out. You _really_ don’t want to try his cupcakes. You’re not sure why, but your gut’s telling you to stay away from them.

“Great. If you’ll excuse me, I have to finish getting ready,” Allen barks. You flinch, raising your hand in farewell.

“Goodnight, Oliver. I’ll see you in an hour, Allen,” you say. Oliver smiles warmly at you as his brother nods. 

“See you, (Y/N).” You freeze, looking at Oliver in fear. The man’s eyes darken once more, but his grin stretches from ear to ear. In a state of panic, you quickly shut your door and lock it, feeling your heart pound against your chest. Oliver hums as he watches you retreat. 

“(Y/N), is it? How _splendid.”_ The baker chuckles darkly before turning to his brother, who looks slightly pale and has his mouth open in agape, almost as if he’s in disbelief. Oliver’s voice lowers to a dangerous level as he speaks. “Allen, my sweet brother, let’s have a small _chat_ in your apartment, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** No! Stop! Come back, you fucking mutts!  
> *** Not very well.  
> **** Do you speak German?


	3. A/N

Hey guys! Long time, no see! I apologize about that. However, I come bearing news. I opened up a Discord server specifically for my fics, so feel free to join! We're cool, I swear. 

https://discord.gg/7HePKmV

See you there!

**Author's Note:**

>  **Drowned Trying** : If you enjoyed the new chapter, leave a comment, kudo, and subscribe!  
>  **Bubblepop32** : I'm mainly the editor, so most of the writing done is by the fabulous DT <3  
> Our discord channel: https://discord.gg/UP6MJP5


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